Page 14 of Memories Made At Midnight (Chronicles of the Westbrook Brides #9)

Inside the stale and stuffy coach

ABOUT FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER

B eatrice would miss the ocean, the waves rushing ashore, the tang in the air, the call of the gulls… Mayhap she would find a house in another seashore town, if not in England, then perhaps France or Italy.

She’d dozed off when Cassius’s urgent whisper dragged her from Morpheus’s arms.

“Beatrice?”

“ Hmm ?”

She didn’t want to wake up.

The effort to stir and walk inside the inn overwhelmed her. Her head felt stuffed with wool, her tongue as if goats had tromped around inside her mouth after frolicking in muck, and her throat burned with a fierceness that rivaled gargling with hot coals. Her cold had worsened, not improved.

“Hurry, Beatrice.” A hint of impatience, or perchance worry, threaded Cassius’s urgent command.

Beatrice touched her dogs on their heads and whispered, “Stay quiet.”

They would obey.

Nala also made for an excellent guard.

“There’s a back entrance.” Cassius reached in and took her hand to help her down. He spoke low, near her ear. “I explained you were overcome with grief and didn’t wish anyone to see you in such a distraught state.”

Beatrice liked his voice. Not too deep or rough, but a pleasant, melodic baritone.

Focus, you goose .

With concentrated effort, she shook off her whimsical musing.

They hadn’t discussed who they grieved for. An oversight they should remedy sooner rather than later so that their stories correlated if necessary.

She nodded, for he’d already warned her not to speak.

“We’ve had a bit of unexpected luck. My eldest half-brother, Layton, is here.”

She formed a surprised “O” with her mouth.

Cassius gave her a sideways smile, though there was no humor in the upward sweep of his well-molded mouth. “Layton was on his way to Brighton, to see me. He’s a former captain in His Majesty’s Army, and I don’t mind telling you, I’m relieved to have encountered him. He’s armed and has agreed to accompany us the rest of the way to Hefferwickshire.”

Beatrice nodded again, grateful they’d have an ally and curious about this other Westbrook brother.

Placing her hand onto Cassius’s forearm, she couldn’t help but notice the taut muscles rippling and flexing beneath her fingertips. Though she was loath to admit it, she didn’t feel at all well and welcomed his support and strength as he led her to a back entrance, up a flight of sturdy steps, and down a dimly lit corridor—the lower half of the walls covered in wainscotting—until they came to a room at the end of the passage.

“This is your room.” He indicated a door.

A wood square displayed a tidy number six in red paint above her chamber.

He jutted his firm chin to the door on the right.

Number five.

“That’s mine. They have connecting doors. I thought that wisest in case something unforeseen occurs.” He pointed to a door across and down the passageway. “Layton’s chamber is just down the corridor.”

She gave a weary nod.

The truth was, she might not be able to stay awake to eat and bathe. Her head throbbed, every muscle in her body ached, and a tightness had invaded her chest.

“I’ve asked for our meal to be sent up and then for baths afterward. I’ll check on the dogs before and after.” He dug in his coat pocket and fished around before withdrawing a skeleton key. “I also paid a stable lad a hefty sum to keep their presence a secret.”

Nala and Teddy weren’t his responsibility, yet Cassius hadn’t exhibited a qualm about looking after them. She’d always thought the manner in which a man—any person for that matter—cared for animals said much about their character.

He inserted the key into the lock. It made a slight scraping noise as he turned it and then toed the door open with his boot. Ribbons of light from the corridor filtered into the dark room.

Leaving her standing just inside the entrance, he crossed to a table where he lit a candle, revealing a clean, if somewhat stark, chamber. A bed covered in a dark green bedspread dominated the small room. In the far corner, a washstand held a porcelain basin and pitcher, a towel, a bar of soap, and a chamber pot on the lower shelf. A single high-back chair sat beneath a window next to the table upon which the candle flickered.

“Stay in here and do not open the door for anyone unless I’m in the room too.” Cassius crossed back to Beatrice, searching her face. He pulled back her veil and touched her cheek with the knuckle of his bent forefinger, his expression tender.

As it had yesterday, his attention lingered on her mouth, and Beatrice was fairly certain he battled an urge to kiss her. What was more, she wanted him to lose that inner struggle.

Just once, so she would know a man’s kiss before she became a dried-up prune of a spinster.

Not any man’s kiss.

Only Cassius’s kiss would do.

Foolish girl .

She pulled a face at her silly ruminations.

He must have mistaken the contortion for an objection to the restrictions he imposed, for a muscle flexed in his jaw. Just as well, for Beatrice would die of humiliation should he ever become aware of her silly fantasies.

“I know these measures seem extreme, Beatrice, but we cannot be too careful. I’ll bring my brother to meet you later if I can arrange to do so discreetly.”

There was something comforting and stirring about having someone take care of her after a lifetime of deprivation. If Beatrice wasn’t careful, she would lose her heart to Cassius.

It’s only because he’s been kind and considerate .

Was it though?

After Cassius had gone and she’d locked the door, Beatrice removed her hat and cloak. The ill-fitting gown sagged on her slender frame.

It didn’t matter.

She’d never been one to care much about fashion—unlike her uncle, who was more fastidious and far pickier about his attire and appearance than any woman she’d ever met.

Several hoarse coughs forced their way up her throat.

Just perfect .

As if their escape weren’t difficult enough, she had to become ill.

Well, Cassius would not hear a single word of complaint from her, Beatrice vowed. She would do nothing to slow down their flight.

The bed looked so inviting. To stretch out and relax would be a little slice of heaven. Sighing, she lay down, intending to rest until Cassius returned. Allowing her eyes to flutter close, she resumed her mental inventory of what she intended to do with her money.

“Beatrice!” Someone shook her shoulder. “Beatrice! Wake up.”

No. I’m so tired . Just let me sleep.

“ Beatrice .”

The fervor in Cassius’s voice finally stirred her.

Beatrice forced her leaden eyelids open.

He loomed over her, his face strained and eyes flashing.

Still half-asleep, she blinked at him groggily.

Lord, she felt positively horrid.

“I’m sorry, Cassius. I must’ve fallen asleep.”

“’Tis of no consequence.” He cast an urgent glance toward the locked door. “A man arrived fifteen minutes ago, asking about a young woman traveling with two dogs—a large boarhound and a small black mongrel.”

Teddy wasn’t a mongrel, though how many times had Uncle Cedric called him precisely that?

“Oh, my God.” She bolted upright, her heart stampeding behind her breastbone.

Cassius speared a worried glance toward the uncovered window. Night was upon them fully now. “Thank God no one saw you enter, and the dogs are still in the coach.”

“How c-could he have f-found us so fast?” She fumbled with her hair, most of which had come loose from her makeshift turban. Fingers thick and awkward, she wound her hair into a knot at the back of her head and retied the strip of lace.

“I don’t know.” Expression grim, he shook his head. “Since no one in the common room saw you enter, Layton and I hope he’ll think he’s on the wrong trail. My brother is distracting the fellow with drink and talk of soldiering. He hopes to get the chap drunk while we make our escape. He’ll catch up to us on the road later on.”

She slipped from the bed and pushed her feet into her slippers.

Cassius shoved her ugly hat and cloak at her. “I’ve already asked for a new team for the coach.”

That wouldn’t raise any suspicions. Leaving less than an hour after they’d arrived.

Beatrice donned both garments in a matter of seconds. However, her fingers shook so badly, she couldn’t tie the bonnet’s ribbons or secure the cloak’s clasp.

“Here.” Cassius gently pushed her quivering hands aside. “Let me do it for you.”

“Thank you,” she mumbled on a barely audible thread.

Terror, unlike anything she’d ever known, sent icy chills pulsating through her body, swiftly followed by a wave of heat.

Or were the flashes of cold and warmth because of her illness?

What did it matter?

Cassius finished securing her cloak, then ever-so-gently cupped her chin.

“I’ll keep you safe, Beatrice. You have my word.”

For her uncle to have sent a man after her this quickly didn’t bode well. Beatrice would never forgive herself if something happened to Cassius while he helped her. She should never have involved him, but how else could she have escaped Brighton?

She opened her mouth to respond, but he twirled her around and gave a little shove. “Go.”